Before Heaven had stretched its vault above and Earth had spread its mantle below, all was chaos. An endless, formless murk. Neither light nor dark, solid nor void. From this swirling cosmic womb a single egg took shape, vast beyond imagining.
Within, the essences of yin and yang wrestled and mingled until, with a thunderous crack, the shell split.
From it emerged the mighty Pan Gu, whose breath became the wind and whose voice became the peal of thunder. He set his feet upon the Earth and pressed his hands against the sky, straining each day to push them farther apart.
For eighteen thousand years he laboured, the clear and light qi rising to form the azure vault above, the heavy and turbid qi sinking into the soil below. When at last his task was done, he lay down, and in his death his body became the world: his eyes the sun and moon, his blood the rivers, his bones the mountains, and his hair the stars.
Thus Heaven and Earth stood in their places, awaiting the stirrings of life that would one day shape the age of immortals, demons, and men.
The world was then divided into four great continents. They were: the East Pūrvavideha Continent, the West Aparagodānīya Continent, the South Jambūdvīpa Continent, and the North Uttarakuru Continent.
Far beyond the ocean of the East Pūrvavideha Continent, there was a country named Aolai, in the midst of which was located the famous Flower-Fruit Mountain. Its cliffs gleam with jade-green moss, and its slopes are embroidered with wildflowers that bloom in every season. Silver streams tumble from cloud-wreathed heights into clear pools where golden carp dart like living coins.
The air is sweet with the scent of blossoms, and the cries of unseen birds echo through groves of peach and plum. Pines stand ancient and straight, their needles whispering in the mountain winds, while bamboo sways in time to the murmuring brooks.
At dawn, the first light sets the whole mountain aglow as if dusted with powdered gold; at dusk, rosy clouds gather about its summit like silken robes. Here, the seasons hold no dominion.
Spring's warmth, summer's abundance, autumn's clarity, and winter's purity dwell together in harmony. In this blessed place, free from death and decay, the seeds of destiny wait to stir.
At the very crest of Flower-Fruit Mountain stood a solitary stone, tall as a tower and ancient as the earth itself, nourished through the ages by the breath of Heaven and the essence of the Earth. It drank the glow of the sun by day and bathed in the silver light of the moon by night, until, in the fullness of time, it quickened with life.
One morning, as the dawn wind carried the scent of blossoms and the sea shimmered beneath the rising sun, the stone shuddered and split with a sound like the cracking of Heaven's vault.
From its heart stepped forth a small figure, no taller than a mortal child, yet with eyes bright as twin stars, a body glistening with the sheen of polished jade, and a presence that seemed to command both Earth and Sky.
At the crown of his head streamed a band of golden light, shooting up into the Nine Heavens and startling the august thrones of the immortals. Thus was born the Stone Monkey, without father or mother, sprung from the pure forces of the world. A creature destined to shake the pillars of heaven.
From within the Hall, the Celestial Emperor looked up. "What is this sudden light that touches the very firmament?"
The August Personage of Primordial Beginning replied, "It comes from the Eastern Continent of Superior Body, from the Flower-Fruit Mountain. There stands a stone, long nourished by the essences of sun and moon, and today it has birthed a monkey. This light is his spirit made manifest."
Another immortal mused, "Such a creature, born of heaven and earth alone, is no ordinary beast. He may well bring disturbance to the order of the worlds."
The Celestial Emperor nodded, yet smiled faintly. "Let it be. If his destiny is to cause trouble, the balance of heaven will see it done in its appointed time."
And so the light faded, and the Stone Monkey descended the mountain slopes. He wandered through the mountain's emerald folds, every step a wonder. He leapt from mossy rock to mossy rock, listening to the silver chatter of the brooks; he wove through groves where the air was thick with the perfume of wild blossoms; he chased the shadows of butterflies until he tumbled laughing into soft grass.
At first, the other monkeys kept their distance, peering at him from behind tree trunks and leafy branches. One, braver than the rest, called out, "Who are you, stranger, with eyes like bright lanterns?"
"I don't know," the Monkey answered honestly, tilting his head. "I was… there." He pointed back toward the high crest of stone.
The others whispered among themselves, inching closer. Days passed before they dared to join him in play. A young one with a crooked tail offered him a peach, saying, "It's sweeter near the pit." The Monkey bit into it and laughed. "Then I'll eat all the way to the pit!"
They showed him the sun-warmed cliffs where one could lie and dream, the secret pools deep in the forest, and the highest branches from which the whole world seemed to sway below.
In the evenings, they sat together, grooming and chattering softly while the light faded. "You're not so strange," an old she-monkey murmured one twilight. "You smell of this mountain, just like we do."
And so, day by day, the Stone Monkey's circle of friends grew. They foraged by day, slept in tangled heaps by night, and learned each other's calls and silences. The mountain's beauty was their playground, its bounty their feast, and its unending sky their roof. In this way, the stranger became one of their own.